


when the stillness bends

by ictus



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2020-01-04 20:24:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18351065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ictus/pseuds/ictus
Summary: Jason can always count on Bruce to project his guilt like shadows on a screen.





	when the stillness bends

**Author's Note:**

> Fits in with Post-Flashpoint continuities, set during a time when Bruce and Jason are only just starting to work together again. Title from [Black Car](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2yoBbTqnCPA) by Beach House.

 

Jason hadn't counted on ending up here tonight.

He and Bruce might not be allies, but every so often their interests overlap to the point where a coordinated approach is not only beneficial, but essential. Necessity aside, Jason does his damnedest to set the terms of their arrangement, which includes—among other things—organising meetings on his own turf.

So when it comes down to it, he’s not exactly thrilled to end up back in the Cave. A mission gone wrong had left him dragging Batgirl out of the field by the scruff of her cape, and it’s not like he could just drop her off at Gotham Central. He loiters for the time it takes for her to be stabilised, his presence going blessedly ignored. Once she’s stable enough to be moved upstairs, he counts his duty as done and decides to make tracks while he still can.

He’s just approaching the exit when Bruce stops him.

“Jason.”

Jason’s lips curl into a smile. He’d been expecting this.

“Yeah?” He shrugs on his jacket, casual. With the smile still playing on his lips, he doesn’t dare turn around. Not yet.

“I need to examine you.”

“I’m fine,” he says, partly because it’s true and partly because he wants Bruce to insist.

“You could have a concussion.”

“I’m sure I’ll live.” The taunt isn’t loaded, but it doesn’t need to be. Jason can always count on Bruce to project his guilt like shadows on a screen. He turns just in time to catch the sting of pain before it gives way to Bruce’s carefully blank expression, and he has to hold back a laugh because it’s all so fucking predictable.

“Jason,” he says again and there it is—that quiet desperation. This is the closest Bruce ever gets to begging, and Jason shivers with the knowledge that _he_ made that happen for no other reason than he wanted it to. 

“Alright,” he says, unaffected. He removes his jacket as he crosses the Cave, making a show of it. Bruce’s eyes are steely where they’re fixed firmly on his face, but that’s okay. He’s just getting started. “Where do you want me?”

Bruce gestures to the medical bed and Jason hops up onto it while Bruce organises the equipment, his movements deft and precise. With Bruce’s back to him, Jason takes a moment to survey the Cave and take in everything that’s changed since last time. This is the third time he’s stepped foot in here since he clawed his way out of his own grave, and it’s the first time that his presence hasn’t led to a physical brawl. But the night’s not over yet.

“How did it happen?”

Jason shrugs. “Fist to the face.”

“Any sensitivity to light?”

He makes a show of squinting in the dim light of the Cave. “I don’t think so,” he says slowly.

“Nausea, double-vision?”

“Nada.”

“Memory loss?”

“I don’t recall.”

“Jason,” he says, and it comes out like a warning, like he’s thirteen again and getting chewed out for being too reckless on patrol.

Jason holds his gaze for as long as he can stand before breaking out into a smile. “No memory loss.”

Bruce turns back to the table and Jason finds himself releasing a breath. Bruce’s attention is something he never quite learned how to bear, finding himself wavering under the intensity of his focus far too often. The more things change—

“Can you follow this for me?” He’s holding a penlight vertically for Jason to track, but Jason’s not looking at that. He’s looking at the gentle curl of Bruce’s fingers, he’s watching the careful deliberation with which he glides the light through the air.

“Jason. I need you to look at the pen.”

“Sure,” he says, adjusting his gaze and easily tracking it from left to right.

“That’s good,” he says, switching on the light. He shines it into each of his eyes, carefully shielding the glow with the curve of his palm so he can note their reactions individually. “Pupils look good,” he murmurs and Jason nods.

Bruce sets the penlight down lightly before taking a step closer, his hands outstretched.

“What are you doing?”

Bruce pauses, his hands still hovering inches from Jason’s face. “I need to check for crepitus. You might have a fracture.”

Jason swallows and represses a shiver. “Go right ahead.”

Bruce’s fingers are impossibly gentle. He steadies Jason’s face with three fingers under his chin while he examines the injury with his other hand, the pads of his fingertips exerting the faintest pressure. Jason has seen these hands draw blood and break bones, but here they are—bare and pale and so very careful as Bruce gently palpates the tender skin under his eye. His touch is sure, clinical, and Jason is frozen beneath it, holding his breath.

Bruce presses a little more firmly against the bone of his eye socket, forcing him to hiss out a breath in pain. Bruce’s face pinches in sympathy but he says nothing. In the absence of an apology, Jason lets his eyes fall closed and breathes in Bruce’s familiar scent, feeling a stir of nostalgia from deep within his chest.

“Orbital fractures usually present rapidly, but I can’t feel anything more than some localised swelling.” Jason hums his assent, not willing himself to open his eyes just yet, feeling that the moment will shatter when he does.

“You’re all clear,” Bruce says finally. He removes his hand from under Jason’s eye but lets his other hand linger under Jason’s chin, almost cradling his face. Jason senses a movement, as if he’s about to draw his hand away. Instead, his thumb brushes Jason’s lips so lightly it has to be incidental, but Bruce—

Bruce’s touch is always purposeful, calculated, always with a precision that’s never anything other than completely intentional.

Jason’s eyes flicker open.

Bruce still hasn’t removed his hand, and Jason can’t help it. He lets his eyes fall to Bruce’s mouth, his own lips parting as he sucks in a breath. Bruce is so close to him, towering over him in fact, and Jason would only have to tilt his head back and close the those last few inches between them. He raises his eyes to Bruce’s and holds his gaze for a beat before Bruce is mirroring his movement, his eyes dropping to Jason’s lips for the briefest of moments, and Jason finds himself thinking _this is it_.

But then his eyes drop lower, to Jason’s throat. Jason can pinpoint the exact moment his eyes catch on the scar, can identify it precisely by the way that Bruce’s hands—so steady, so sure—begin to tremble.

Bruce can feel it too, knows instantly he’s given himself away. He withdraws his hand but Jason’s too quick, grabbing his wrist and tugging him closer until their bodies are almost touching, the space between them feeling too big and too small all at once.

“Jason,” he says, and Jason’s so fucking sick of hearing his name like a reprimand on the tip of Bruce’s tongue. Bruce has him pinned with his gaze, the intensity of it making him falter, but things are different now: he won’t be the first to look away. He’s so lost in the expression on Bruce’s face that he almost doesn’t feel Bruce’s hand on his, his long, elegant fingers unravelling Jason’s grip on his wrist with a deceptive strength, and wrenching his hand out of his grasp.

And then it’s over.

Bruce clears his throat and turns away, leaving Jason to stare helplessly at the back of his head, knuckles gone white where he’s gripping the edges of the medical bed. Bruce is unnecessarily organising and reorganising the instruments into drawers, and Jason feels as if he has no other choice but to take the out that Bruce has given him.

“Right, well. Thanks for that. Be seeing you next time the city’s overrun with killer plants or whatever else.”

Bruce doesn’t say anything, and Jason can’t even pretend to be surprised. He casts around for his jacket and shrugs it on for a second time. He’s off the bed and heading out without a word, anger and frustration already seeping through him, when Bruce calls out to him again.

“Jason.”

Jason’s heart stutters against his ribs. He stops slowly, deliberately. There’s no sly grin to conceal this time, just a hopefulness he can’t quite keep from showing on his face.

Eventually, he turns. “Yeah?”

Bruce is approaching him, something clutched in his hand. Jason’s mouth is suddenly very dry, his head spinning with the possibilities.

“Take these,” he says, and hands Jason a bottle of aspirin.

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/scansionictus).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [When The Stillness Bends (the Off The Bridges We Fly remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20508587) by [geckoholic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/pseuds/geckoholic)




End file.
